


Ground Control

by bishopsknifepatrick



Series: song snippets [1]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, I don't know exactly where I was even going with this, I think anyway, It's different, M/M, hiatus fob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-12 01:30:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11726685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bishopsknifepatrick/pseuds/bishopsknifepatrick
Summary: Remembering the band days, y'know when you used to be in a band with your best friends, is like running into a wall. Six times in a row.





	Ground Control

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not exactly sure what I was trying to do exactly, but it was supposed to be based off Ground Control (by All Time Low), and I was intending to not add any romance at all. It's more like implied Peterick. 
> 
> Enjoy reading whatever the fuck this is, I guess.

300 days with no reply now. 

Patrick missed them. More than he was ever going to admit to anyone. But there was no going back now. They were gone. Or were they?

A shoebox in his lap, the polaroids made it feel like the next big thing the world blew up one day, then tore down the next. 

Patrick didn’t cry, he was done crying. If anything he actually smiled.

The thing he missed was the friendship. Them writing and making music. Them being in a band. The bonds. 

But the house felt darker than usual. Almost as if there was a cloud looming over it, letting all the emotions drop down on Patrick, like added weight to his shoulders.

There was no one there to tell him it was going to be okay. He can't find his way back to what once was. 

He felt empty. Like he was in the middle of space and nobody could hear his cries for help. Nowhere to go. He was losing his mind. 

He had to get out of his house. The Polaroid he was holding was shoved into his jean pocket. Putting the lid back on the box, he placed it back in the bottom corner of his closet, hidden from sight, out of mind. He pulled on his already-tied shoes, pulling one of his many cardigans over his arms, then shoulders and putting his cell phone inside the pocket. 

He practically ran out the door onto his porch. The blue sky, free of any clouds, was the opposite of what he was feeling. Stepping down the small staircase to the ground, he made his way to the sidewalk. His neighbourhood felt abandoned, with not a single other person in sight. He walked down his street. An empty field was set off to right of the road. He trailed off the sidewalk into the long, tall grass. He walked 100 yards into the centre of the square land. He pulled out the piece of paper. On one side, a picture, and the other side, a note.

_“Hey, I promise, you will be fine_  
Got the universe on your side”  
-Pete 

That note meant more to him than anyone would probably ever know.

He grabbed his cell phone from his pocket and then dialled the one number he knew better than anyone else’s. Holding the phone up to his ear, he could feel his knees wanting to bucket beneath him. The phone rang twice before a raspy “Hello” answered. 

“Hi, Pete. It’s me, Patrick.”

The weight seemed to lift once again. He tried to find a reason to not to go outside. Nothing came to mind.

Patrick felt like he had finally gained control of himself standing there on the hard ground.


End file.
